


A Light Amid the Shadows Shone

by AdmirableMonster (Mertiya)



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Canonical Character Death, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hanukkah, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, background russingon, past turgon/elenwë - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28035750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/AdmirableMonster
Summary: Hanukkah, 1938, England.  Less than a month after the events of Kristallnacht, Turgon doesn't know if he's going to bother celebrating.  Not only is he worn out trying to handle the addition of a German child to the household, his wife has just died, leaving him and his little girl quite alone.But Hanukkah means light in the darkness and family--and perhaps in the end that's just what Turgon is going to get.
Relationships: Idril Celebrindal & Turgon of Gondolin, Maeglin | Lómion & Turgon of Gondolin
Comments: 20
Kudos: 42
Collections: Festival of Lights Fest





	A Light Amid the Shadows Shone

**Author's Note:**

> title from the lay of leithian

The little boy was still watching the snow fall.He hadn’t said a word since he had arrived, watching Turgon with large, dark eyes in a way that felt accusatory, even though Turgon suspected the child was just frightened.He wanted to cry, wanted to rage.Why had he agreed to this? 

Of course, when he had agreed, it had been the two of them agreeing—him and Elenwë—to open their home to a child a need.Now, one month later, and Elenwë was dead, and Idril was grieving, and the boy—Maeglin—still wasn’t speaking.Turgon thought that he ought to be grieving.He ought to be in _sheloshim_.He did not want to be.He did not want to observe customs.He did not want to hear the platitudes of his family.He did not want his _faith_ , not now—not when his light was gone, not when there was a darkness looming on the horizon that bid fair to wipe his people from the face of the earth.He ought to feel solidarity.Idril dreamed of shattering glass, as she had every night for the past few weeks, and G-d help him, Turgon did not know if she dreamed of the destruction in Europe or the death of her mother.

“Let’s go back inside,” he said to Maeglin, trying to sound kind.He suspected he only managed to sound severe.The boy looked up at him sadly, but did not protest, only nodded, moving away from the door.“I’m sorry,” Turgon said, tightly, not quite certain what he was apologizing for, but Maeglin only put his head to one side as if he were confused.“Never mind,” Turgon sighed.

Idril was in the kitchen when the two of them came back inside, looking up from a heavy cast iron frying pan with a frightened but stubborn look on her face.

“What are you doing?” Turgon asked her.

“I want latkes.It’s Hanukkah.The sun’s just gone down.If we aren’t going to have a menorah and chocolates and things, I want latkes, anyway.I know how to make them, Mummy taught me.”

It caught him by surprise, the sudden sharp stabbing pain in his chest.“Idril…”

He thought she might cry, but she didn’t.Her lip wobbled a little, but she glared at him, putting her hands on her hips.“I _mostly_ know how to make them,” she pleaded.“And we have applesauce.”

Maeglin was looking back and forth from Turgon to Idril. 

“Idril,” Turgon sighed.“I can’t.I’m tired, and you might burn yourself.Please.We’ll have a proper Hanukkah next year.”

“Latkes?” Maeglin said suddenly, and Turgon nearly fell over.He’d picked the boy up three weeks ago from the train station—just _days_ after Elenwë’s death, he ought to have been sitting _shiva_ , for G-d’s sake.He shouldn’t have suddenly found himself responsible for a possibly soon-to-be-orphaned child when his own daughter had been rendered abruptly motherless.But he had agreed.They had agreed.And it wasn’t as if Maeglin had anywhere else to go.Where would a child sent here from another continent be able to go?Particularly when said continent was turning on Turgon’s people and Maeglin’s people like a rabid wolf.Even now, Turgon thought the Kindertransport was a good idea—the _least_ Britain could do, really.He just wished it hadn’t dumped an extra responsibility onto his doorstep.

“Kann ich helfen?” Maeglin said, sounding hopeful, and Turgon stared at him.Had he really expected the child—twelve or thirteen years old, perhaps, Idril’s age or thereabouts—to speak fluent English after being sent here from Germany?He wasn’t sure he’d expected anything, though.he’d thought Maeglin would make a sound, at least.But up until now, he had been as silent as if his voice had been stripped out of him.

“My German is terrible, I’m afraid,” Turgon said, trying to gentle his voice.

Maeglin nodded to the frying pan.

“I think he wants to help,” Idril said.“Papa, can he?”

“I…” He was so tired.He wanted nothing more than to lie down and cry into one of Elenwë’s old sweaters.But Idril looked so _hopeful_.Maeglin was almost smiling for the first time.For the first time, he didn’t seem _afraid_ , as if he expected Turgon to—to strike him.“All right,” he said heavily.“I’ll supervise if you two want to make latkes.”He nodded at Maeglin.“Latkes.Yes.Ehm… _ja_.”

He got a brilliant smile.Then Maeglin nodded and went awkwardly over to Idril.He pointed at the potatoes and made a grating motion.“Oh,” said Idril.“Yes.I suppose we’d better do that first.”She took his elbow gently and towed him over to the drawer where they kept their kitchen implements.“Here.I’ll find you the rest of the ingredients.”

“Latkes,” Maeglin agreed.“Yes.”The English word came out awkwardly and laden with an accent, but something inside Turgon’s chest tightened. 

“I’ll find E-Elenwë’s recipe book so that we can check,” he said. _Oh, my love._

“All right, Papa.” 

For the next little while, they pottered about the kitchen, gathering ingredients.Maeglin grated potatoes with an aplomb and efficiency that astonished Turgon.Then Idril pointed out quantities in the recipe book written in Elenwë’s rather crabbed handwriting and the two of them mixed up the batter.Turgon made certain they wouldn’t start frying anything while he was out of the room, and went up the narrow, dusty staircase into his lonely bedroom, where he opened the closet, managed to ignore the stack of Elenwë’s sweaters, and instead got out the menorah and candles.When he got back downstairs with it, he was rewarded with the sight of Idril’s face lighting up.

“Are we going to light the menorah after all, Papa?” she asked eagerly. 

Turgon swallowed, but nodded.“What would Hanukkah be without lighting the menorah?” he asked.

“Oh, Papa!”Idril flung her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.He patted her gently on the head and looked over at Maeglin, who was watching them with a peculiar expression on his face as he mixed up the latke batter.

“Er-hem,” Turgon said, clearing his throat.“Come on.I know we’re a bit late—” It had been dark outside for at least half an hour, the snow falling heavily, “—but I’m sure G-d will understand.We’ll light the menorah and then fry up the latkes, how does that sound?”For Maeglin’s benefit, he pointed to the menorah and then the frying pan.

Both children nodded eagerly.“All right then, come along.”They were most of the way into the living room when someone knocked energetically on the door.It sent a rolling, giddy wave of anxiety through Turgon, and he simply stopped, staring at it.Idril had no such compunction, and she ran forward and undid the latch before Turgon could tell her not to.

The next moment, he felt absurd, because standing outside in the falling snow were Fin and his—friend.They were both rosy-cheeked and smiling, and Turgon stared at them in confusion.Idril squealed, “Uncle Fin!” She clapped her hands together.

“Good evening,” Fin said.“Let us in, brother?It’s a bit nippy out here.”

“I—I suppose it is,” Turgon allowed, stepping back from his doorway to let the two enter.He shut the door behind them, then looked back to find that Idril was already taking their coats to put on the old wooden coatrack by the door.

“I know you said you didn’t want to see me,” Fin continued, “And I am sorry to barge in like this, but—” He looked so hopeful that Turgon sighed and put out a hand for him to shake.

“I wasn’t myself when I said that,” he allowed.“I’m glad you’re here.The children and I were just about to light the menorah.”He looked over awkwardly at the tall, red-haired man looming in the door way.“Russ.Ehm.Good to see you, too.”

Russ gave him a hopeful-looking nod, then held out a bag that glittered in the electric lights.“We brought the, er,” he said. 

“Gelt,” Fin supplied, and Turgon sighed. _Male_ in a lover was one thing, but male _and_ goy? _Be nice,_ Elenwë’s phantom voice chided him, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain of it.Russ was kind, and he made Fin blindingly happy, and how could Turgon possibly stand in the way of that?He would never wish on Fin the kind of heartbreak that—

“You’re both very welcome,” he said thickly.

“We brought the dreidel, too!” Fin told him eagerly.“Ooh, are those latkes about to go on the stove?”

“Yes!Yes, they are!Come help us, Uncle Fin!” Idril said eagerly.“Maeglin is going to fry them, aren’t you?”

The little boy seemed a bit bemused, but he yielded easily to Idril holding a hand out and tugging him. 

“They’ll be delicious!” Fin laughed.“Let’s light the menorah first, shall we?Come along, children.”

Russ hovered awkward at the side of the room until Turgon gave him an irritable nod.“Oh, come along, then, unless you’ve a problem with us,” he said, in a low tone of voice.

“No—not at all—I didn’t want to intrude,” Russ murmured, but he followed the group over.

Idril reached eagerly for the _Shamash_ candle, then paused and looked over, first at her father, then at Maeglin.“Would you like to light the candle, Maeglin?”

Maeglin looked at her in confusion; Turgon couldn’t tell if it was because he hadn’t understood the words, or if there was some other reason for his hesitation.Turgon himself dug out the matches, and pressed the box into Maeglin’s hand.“Here, son,” he said.“If Idril wants to let you, you should try it.”

Those dark eyes, that had seemed so shuttered and expressionless, welled up with tears, and suddenly Turgon had an armful of crying, babbling boy.He couldn’t understand the snatched little phrases that Maeglin was hiccuping, but it was clear he was overwhelmed, maybe homesick.Helplessly, Turgon put a hand on his head, while Idril hovered anxiously.

It was Fin, frank and cheerful as always, who kept them moving forward.“That’s all right, lad,” he said.“You cry if you need to.Then would you like to light the candle?”

Russ stepped towards them.“I know a little German,” he said.“Would you like me to translate?”

“Thanks, love,” Fin said, and Russ stooped a little and addressed a few low phrases to Maeglin, who blinked at him and looked up trembling, then gasped and said something back.Turgon caught the word _‘Mutter_ ’, which he was fairly certain meant ‘ _mother_ ’.

“He wants to know if it’s all right, if you really mean for him to light the candles,” Russ said.“He used to light them with his mother.But his father—” The man’s face changed.“Oh, little one. _Nein_ ,” he continued in German.“ _Niemand wird dich verletzen_.”

Maeglin sniffed and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.“ _Danke_ ,” he said, another word Turgon recognized.Then, “ _Es tut mir leid_.”

Another few exchanges, and Maeglin took the matches from Turgon.Idril clapped her hands as Maeglin lit the _Shamash_ expertly and then looked over at them.Fin, as he had always done since he and Turgon were quite small, began to hum a low tune as Turgon started the blessing, and Idril and Maeglin joined in.This language they all knew, Turgon realized, at least enough for a moment of togetherness.His chest tightened again, so much so that he nearly failed to get out the third blessing entirely.But he did, and Maeglin lit the first candle and then set the _Shamash_ back in its holder.The light of it reflected bright in the dark window and shed a gleaming semi-circle out onto the snowy ground without.Turgon watched the flame dance until the tightness eased.

“Let’s go make latkes and play dreidel!” Fin exclaimed, and Turgon had to laugh at his brother’s puppy-dog-like excitement.It was charming, and despite himself he couldn’t help but feel the comfort of the other’s presence.

“Yes, let’s,” he agreed.Idril grabbed Maeglin’s arm and hauled him off to the kitchen, and Fin chased after them, leaving Turgon alone in the room with Russ for an instant.

“Thank you for letting me be here,” Russ told Turgon, sounding sincere, which Turgon appreciated, and also very awkward, which made Turgon feel a little as if he had perhaps been ungenerous.

“Thank you for looking after Fin,” he said stiffly, after a moment.“He dotes on you.”

Well, that was a soppy expression if he’d ever seen one.But it was a nice thing to see right now, Turgon had to admit.“He deserves the best, so I shall give him the best,” Russ returned.As the two of them headed for the kitchen, a little frown knitted down his forehead.“The boy—Fin said he had been sent here from Germany?He’s Jewish as well?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Perhaps that’s why.”

“Why what?”

“Oh—it’s just that he looks very like you,” Russ said, sounding mildly puzzled.

“Does he?” Turgon asked as they entered the kitchen to the sound of sizzling oil and the friendly, familiar smell of frying potato pancakes.

“Something about the eyes.He’s very serious until he smiles,” Russ explained, “and then they crinkle up, just the way yours do when you look at Idril.”

“Odd,” Turgon commented, looking speculatively at Maeglin.“Well, this is no time for worrying about mysteries.”

“No,” Russ agreed.“Do be kind to him, will you?I don’t think—it seemed his father wasn’t very supportive of his mother’s religion.” 

A little icy chill ran down Turgon’s back at the thought.“He will come to no harm here, you can count on that.”

“I’ve no doubt.”Russ crossed the room to stand at Fin’s elbow.“Here we are, tell us how we can help.”

“You can translate,” Fin told him.“We’ve already had poor Maeglin halfway around the kitchen trying to get the right implements and spices because Idril and I don’t speak German.”

“Is there anything I can do, or am I completely useless?” Turgon drawled.

“Oh, _Papa_!” Idril said, disapprovingly.“No one is useless on Hanukkah!Come over here and get out the applesauce!”

The kitchen was warm and bright and full of good food and good smells.There would be latkes for dinner and dreidel afterwards.Turgon still felt Elenwë’s absence keenly, like a hole that could not be filled—but he could not deny how happy he was to have his family here, his brother’s family here, and the little one who was already laughing and smiling like a brother with his daughter.

Perhaps he could be happy this Hanukkah after all.


End file.
